


Balance and Sway

by Niamh_St_George



Series: Oliver Trevelyan [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8275940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/Niamh_St_George
Summary: Oliver had no love for duplicity and masks as they used them in Orlais, but neither had he ever relished the prospect of his heart being laid bare before another.  And yet he trusted her.  Wholly.  She could end him with a word, and still he trusted her. 
Damn, but love was bloody terrifying.





	

So lost was he in the relief that this bloody blighted evening was practically— _finally_ —over, Oliver almost missed Cassandra’s words.

“‘This isn’t so _terrible_ ’?” he echoed on a laugh as they moved together around the balcony. The Seeker clearly knew the steps, though she moved through them stiffly at first, eyes flicking occasionally and uncertainly down at their feet before remembering herself and looking up again.Oliver suspected the knowledge of the steps bespoke to years of lessons in her youth; he also suspected if there were such lessons, Cassandra resented them as heavily as she resented anything else having remotely to do with her uncle. But the last thing he wanted was to remind her of old resentments or unpleasant memories. “You damn me with faint praise, my lady.”

Even in the pale moonlight, a visible flush stained Cassandra’s cheeks. 

It was charming—whenever she blushed it was charming—though he doubted she’d have thanked him for pointing it out, as he had numerous times before.Perhaps this time— _this time—_ he’d refrain.Instead, he settled his hand at the base of her spine, easing her closer. Perhaps the tiniest bit closer than was strictly proper.

It was Oliver’s humble opinion that after what he’d gone through tonight, propriety could sod off, court approval be damned.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” Cassandra replied, giving his shoulder a light smack—though she did not resist and nor did she appear to disapprove of the diminished distance between them.On the contrary, after swatting him she returned the gesture, her hand sliding from his shoulder to the middle of his back, settling warm between his shoulder blades.Through the stiff material of the jacket he hated, her thumb rubbed a slow circle against his spine.Hours of tension over years of unpleasant memories slowly ebbed away with every tiny revolution. 

“I assume it means I’m more interesting than your soup-enamored count,” he remarked, as they took another turn around the balcony.

“Infinitely so,” came her dry retort. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He dipped his head to catch her eyes and grinned. “I’d never dream of it.”

Cassandra’s answering smile was an arch one. “Why do I not believe you?”

The playful lilt in her tone didn’t make itself known terribly often, and for that Oliver loved it all the more. Like the smile she wore when they were alone—or when they thought they were alone, which occasionally and maddeningly were not the same thing—or the flustered flush at her cheeks, these were parts of Cassandra she’d _chosen_ to show him, and he was not ignorant of their worth.

“I’m sure I have no idea. I’m the absolute epitome of trustworthiness.”

“I imagine that depends on who you ask.”

“My lady Seeker,” he replied with mock affront, “I am _wounded_ you would call into question my integrity.”

She smiled, as he’d hoped she would, and shook her head at him, her expression too fond to be properly exasperated.“I only said that the measure of your integrity would depend on who you asked.”

“And if I asked you?”

She met his eyes then, and amusement and archness faded away into something… uncertain. Shy. 

“I trust you with my life, Oliver.” She paused before adding, softly, hesitantly, “And my heart.”

Whatever mask he’d had in place this evening, it fell and shattered with those words.Oliver bowed his head, forehead resting against hers as their steps slowed to nearly a stop.“The feeling… is mutual,” he replied, and though the words were his own, his voice sounded too husky, too thick to his own ears.

Since the beginning of this endeavor, Oliver had had little choice but to trust Cassandra with his life.Mostly, he had to trust her not to end it.In time, though, they’d learned each other’s rhythm on the battlefield. In time, protecting each other became second nature.He trusted Cassandra with his life, not because she’d spared it, not because she was a Seeker of Truth, but because, more often than not, they relied on each other in battle. They watched each others’ backs. They worked together—perhaps ironically—like two hands.

His heart was another matter altogether.Though he was content enough to pretend they didn’t exist, his own wounds had long lingered beneath the surface, never healed; his own anger, his own old resentments had been caught like insects in amber. Caring for another—that hadn’t been the hard part.But realizing he’d come to _depend_ on a world that had Cassandra in it was something else entirely.Something—were he to be honest with himself—that appealed to Oliver not at all.No, he had no love for duplicity and masks as they used them in Orlais, but neither had he ever relished the prospect of his heart being laid bare before another.And yet.

And yet he trusted her.Wholly.She could end him with a word, and still he trusted her.

Damn, but love was bloody terrifying.

As they moved through the waltz, every turn around the balcony drew them closer together and gradually the Empress’ court, the silly intrigues, and everything about The Great Game slipped further and further away. Even the murmur of the ball’s guests, the strains of music, all grew faint.

“May I say right now I’m rather glad you did not get your way?This would be far more difficult in ceremonial armor. Louder, too.”

“I forgot,” Cassandra murmured. “You prefer to skulk.”

Sending her a crooked smile, Oliver canted his head closer and kissed the corner of her mouth, lingering to whisper a soft reply. “My ability to skulk turned out to be very useful this evening, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh?” Cassandra’s eyes darted briefly to the side—checking for potential interlopers, no doubt—before she moved closer, pressing an equally slow kiss to his lips.

Propriety could _definitely_ sod off.

“I uncovered any number of charming nooks and crannies,” he told her, his voice still low, his lips still playing across her skin, tracing the line of her jaw. “In fact. Some were… shall we say, _particularly_ intriguing?”

She breathed a laugh, tightening her arms around him.“And how is this useful now?’

Oliver brought his mouth to Cassandra’s ear, letting his warm breath stir her short strands of hair. She shivered, and he attempted—unsuccessfully—not to feel gratified. “Nooks and cranniesand closets with doors that lock,” he whispered.“From the _inside_. Isn’t that a curiosity?Those Orlesians. What will they think of next?”

Cassandra sucked in a short, swift breath.“What are you proposing?”

“I’m proposing nothing,” he replied with a shrug, trying at innocence and failing spectacularly. “Simply making conversation as regards Orlesian ingenuity.”

“Oliver—”

“Or at least,” he broke in, “I’m not proposing we break into the Royal living quarters and debauch the Empress’ bed. I’m not proposing anything terribly improper _._ ” Although, were he to be honest, breaking in somewhere and debauching _something_ held a certain appeal, too.

“What are you suggesting, then?”

“We find a spot that will afford a modicum of privacy.”Her expression revealed uncertainty, but not outright disapproval and he shook his head on a laugh.“Cassandra. I’ve felt you removing this foolish uniform piece by piece all night long.Forgive me if I’d rather your hands did it than your eyes.”

“I have done no such thing,” she protested hotly—too hotly—the flush returning to her cheeks. 

Oliver’s expression twisted to amused skepticism. “What you mean to say, I think, is that you thought I wouldn’t notice. Or perhaps you hoped I wouldn’t?”

“I would have thought,” Cassandra replied with a hint of reproof, “you’d have had other things on your mind.”

“Things other than a beautiful woman mentally undressing me?” he asked, brow arching high.It was hardly worthwhile to maintain the appearance of dancing any longer.“Tell me, what on the Maker’s green earth made you think _that_ would be less appealing than foiling an assassination plot?”

“And yet you managed to persevere,” she drawled.

“I had excellent incentive.” He flashed a grin.“It was imperative I resolve one matter satisfactorily so I could give the other my full attention.”

But Cassandra’s expression had turned cloudy, her brows drawing together as if she’d examining a particularly stubborn puzzle piece. “You… think I’m beautiful.”

“I think you are amazingly beautiful.” Pulling her closer, he brought his fingers to her face, tracing a path along one cheekbone. “And there were moments I hated that I thought you beautiful.”

“Such as?”

“Such as during my rather intimate experience with your interrogation skills.”

Cassandra grimaced at the memory. “People can change.”

“Oh, I think we’re nearly the same people we were before. It’s our perspectives that have changed.Now, follow my lead.”

“I’m going to regret this; I can—”Her words cut off as Oliver pulled her in for a kiss.After her momentary surprise subsided, her lips parted and her arms tightened around him, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other slid to the base of his neck, pulling him even closer.Her teeth caught his lower lip and sparks flared deep in his blood, fueled by every one of Cassandra’s soft, sighing breaths.

When he pulled away, her eyes had gone a shade darker.“Very well,” she whispered.“Lead.”

Now, the key to true nonchalance, as Oliver well knew, was going everywhere like you had every right to be there.Which usually worked, so long as no one ever caught you picking a lock to get there.But once you were in, you were _in._ Which was why no one questioned them as they strode through the ballroom and vestibule—Cassandra’s sharp intake of breath told Oliver she was reconsidering, but he kept his pace leisurely, his posture relaxed.

Not a soul was in the library, which wasn’t very much of a surprise; the evening’s crowd did not strike him as the sort for whom reading was very much a source of pleasure.

The room in question was just off the library, nearly lost in a niche by the stairs. Oliver grasped the handle, which twisted easily—as it ought to have done; he’d already done the hard work of picking the lock—and revealed what was either a very small room or a very large closet. Probably the latter, considering this was the Empress’ palace, and so far the rooms had definitely trended towards enormous.Either way, it was more than enough room for two, and they slipped into the dimly lit closet (a lighted closet that locked from the inside, almost as if it had been designed for secret assignations; what _would_ those Orlesians think of next?), amidst framed artwork leaning against the walls, piles of ancient leatherbound books stacked upon a teetering old chair with unforgivably ugly upholstery. A battered, scratched chest took up the corner. It was, even for a palace, a perfectly normal closet, aside from the fact that the paintings probably cost a small fortune, the chair was likely a priceless antique, and the books all first editions.The chest, he already knew, was empty.

“Dare I ask what made you think to look in a closet for a would-be assassin?” Despite her arch tone, color glowed in Cassandra’s cheeks. Either the Seeker was wholly unaccustomed to instances requiring stealth, or her anticipation was running just that high. Then again, it could have been a little of both.

He shot a grin at her over his shoulder as he slid the bolt home. “It may be I’m just that thorough.”

Instead of responding, Cassandra caught Oliver by the shoulders even as his hand slid behind her neck, their kiss a hungry collision. Twisting, he pressed her against the closed door, satisfaction rolling through his veins when she groaned into the kiss, arching against him, all impatience.Her teeth caught his lip and he responded in kind, his hand sliding over the swell of her hip, sneaking beneath the fabric of her jacket to find the curve of her waist. His fingers met skin-warm linen and Cassandra gasped into the kiss, breaking it only long enough to manage a husky, broken mutter:

“You play dirty, Trevelyan.”

“Oh, yes.”

Cassandra’s kisses only ever started out shy, and that only lasted as long as it took for impatience to burn everything else to ash, with nothing but want and passion left over.Every embrace left him without a doubt this was a woman with generations of dragon-hunting in her blood.

She pulled him even closer, fingers sliding into his hair, her mouth over his again, still hot, still insistent. A breathy protest passed her lips as he pulled away before battening his lips upon her neck, a tiny sensitive spot beneath her ear that turned the breath of a protest to a groan of pleasure that sent want shuddering through him.

Then her hands were at the buttons at his collar, feverishly working downward. His normally sure, normally nimble fingers caught at the belt around her waist, the sash. The belt’s buckle clinked softly as it hit the floor, followed by gloves, sashes, coats—

“Shit,” Oliver hissed.Cassandra looked at him, all mussed hair and flushed cheeks and dark eyes and kiss-bruised lips.

“What is it?”

He brought his hand to her hip—her breath caught, her eyes closed—and he followed the swell of her hip and thecurve of her thigh—right until it hit the top of her boot.

Her thigh-high boot.

Her twenty-minutes-just-to-put-on boot.

Cassandra swore suddenly and vehemently.“Do you know how long it took me to put these foolish things on?”

“As a point of fact, yes, I do remember. I was there. I helped.”He hated the damned uniform all over again.

“I’m not certain I would call what you did _helping._ ”She sighed, resignation pulling at the corners of her mouth, at odds with the flush upon her cheeks.“Perhaps… perhaps we should return—”

“No.”

Oliver’s hands drifted down to the ties on Cassandra’s breeches, letting his fingertips play gently, teasingly against the skin at her waist, across her belly, reveling in every sigh, every gasp he could elicit.

“Oliver,” she breathed, “you can’t be thinking of—”

“Of burning these bloody uniforms to cinders when the night is over? No, I’m not thinking that—well, not only that—as it happens.”

He slid his hand in and down, his palm flush against her belly, working slowly lower. He watched ardently the way Cassandra’s eyes widened when the tips of his fingers first brushed her curls, the way her breathing hitched and her teeth sunk into her full bottom lip, already swollen with kisses, when those questing fingers found slick skin.

“Oliver.”

“Maker’s breath,” he murmured, dropping his head to her shoulder.She was so—

_Oh, Maker._

His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke in a low whisper. “Dare I inquire after the thoughts my lady has been entertaining this evening?”

“You may not.”

He slid one finger deeper in.“I’m afraid I must insist.”

She gasped and closed her eyes, a tiny, strangled cry as he began to stroke. Slowly.

“Tell me, Cassandra,” Oliver purred, lips brushing her neck.Her ragged breathing was loud in the tiny room. His cock was hard, uncomfortable in the thrice-damned trousers, but still he moved slowly, fingertips exploring the soft, slick wetness.He added a second finger, gently.

“Tell me,” he urged. _Tell me everything._

“I wanted you tonight.”The words came out with such force, Oliver wondered how long she’d been keeping them in.“I wanted you from the moment we arrived.”

“Not before?” he asked on a low laugh, gently catching the skin at her neck with his teeth.

“Of course before,” she replied breathlessly, but with a ghost of her usual tone. She worked his hips against his hand. His fingers slowed in response, but did not stop. Even so, Cassandra’s dismayed cry told him what she thought of that.

“I wanted you,” she said again, then licked her lips.“I kept… imagining you.My hands on you.”

“Here?” he rumbled against her neck, feigning surprise.“Where anyone could see?How _bold_ , Seeker.”She gasped his name and he caught her earlobe between his teeth, worrying gently.“Tell me more.”With his free hand he cupped her breast, letting his palm warm her skin through the light tunic she wore beneath the jacket. “In fact, I’ll make you a deal.”As Oliver spoke, his thumb trailed lazily over her nipple, which grew harder with every stroke.“As long as you keep talking, I won’t stop.”

Oliver wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to keep his end of the bargain, but it might be fun to try.

“You cannot be serious.”

“It’s been a long night, Cassandra.”Oliver lowered his head to press a kiss to her throat. “Plenty of time for prurient thoughts, even if you don’t count the time we spent pursuing an assassin.”He stroked her more deeply, savoring her gasp, the way her hands tightened on him, the way her whole body responded.“Well?”

Barely a heartbeat of time passed before the words “The garden,” came out in a rush.She moved her hips more insistently against his hand. “I wanted you in the garden.”

Plenty of dark corners there, no doubt.“I commend your choice of locale.”

Cassandra’s laugh was breathless. “I thought you might feel that way.”

“Go on.”

“I wanted to get you as far from the others as possible. I wanted to feel your skin under my hands. To feel _you_ inside me—” She gasped, her body tightening around his fingers. “Boots be damned.”

“It doesn’t bother you, then, we might have been caught… in the moment, as it were?”

Cassandra’s breath caught and her body clenched greedily around his fingers; he stroked more firmly, fingertips traveling to the spots that made her gasp and the ones that made her bite off a scream. She moved her hips and he met every thrust.

“I think it _doesn’t_ bother you,” he murmured against her neck. “I think you rather like the idea of being caught out.”

“Don’t… be—absurd.”

“We could be caught _now_.” The words came out low, barely better than a rumble, and when Cassandra gasped again, there was a tear to it, a near-cry. “Think of the _talk._ ”

From the way Cassandra’s teeth sunk down into her lower lip to smother her cry, she was absolutely thinking about it.

“I _want_ you.”

“You have me.” Oliver’s fingers slid against her, searching until he found just the right spot—until she shuddered, hard, against him, and he closed his mouth over hers, his kiss swallowing the sharp cries that rose and crested like the rest of her, Cassandra’s body shuddering and rocking against him. He knew too well what it was like to want—but later, later they would have a better chance, when it didn’t matter how long they took to undress each other, or how loudly they enjoyed each other.

Later. It was beyond unfortunate _later_ bore absolutely no resemblance to _right bloody now_ , but he would persevere. For the moment, they leaned against each other, their breathing the only sound in the room. They slowly put themselves back together, piece by piece. Once their uniforms were more or less reassembled, the only evidence of their interlude the lingering flush at Cassandra’s cheeks, Oliver reached for the bolt that had guaranteed their privacy. Before he could slide it back, though, Cassandra laid one hand over his, stilling his fingers.His blood still sizzled, still pounded through his veins, and the simple touch—even through his glove—made his breath catch hard in his throat.

He swallowed and looked down to meet Cassandra’s dark eyes. Her expression was a blend of too many other things to be easily read—desire, promise, speculation, all twined around something unmistakably _arch_. Oliver didn’t try to parse them all; he simply enjoyed the way they played across her face.

“This isn’t finished. _We_ aren’t finished.”

It was a great consolation to Oliver that he didn’t let loose a deeply—and giddily—relieved sigh. “You have no idea how utterly delighted I am to hear that, my lady Seeker.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
